With a sucking sound, his back muscles knitted themselves around her right wrist. She cried out at the pressure. It was like his flesh was a tourniquet strangling her arm.
She couldn’t pull her hand free.
No! Oh no!
She jerked and wrenched until her shoulder muscles felt like they were ripping from the bones. She screamed in pain and panic. She couldn’t get out.
She grabbed the dagger, hesitating only for a second. There was no help for it. She cut into his back, dragging the blade in a curve around her wrist, nicking her arm. She threw herself backward with all her might.
She landed hard on her back, jarring every bone. Except her hand.
Gone!
I tore off my hand!
Crying, she held up her arm. There, still attached, was a dusky blue hand.
Not gone! It’s not gone!
She sobbed. It was so numb, she couldn’t feel it at all. She shook her arm and the hand flopped limply. She couldn’t take her eyes from her useless fingers. Gradually, pins and needles began to sting her wrist and crept outward. The pain sharpened, and her hand turned an angry red.
I feel it! Pain is good, she thought, shaking with relief.
Slowly sensation returned, and she moved her fingers gingerly. The pain eased as normal color returned.
She crawled to Lysander, whose skin was ashen and cool. She was relieved to find he was still breathing. She needed to get him in the house. With a bone-crunching sound, his wings folded and smooth slits opened in his back. There was no bleeding as the wings collapsed inward and were absorbed into his flesh with a soft sucking sound. He exhaled a sigh.
A bobbing light in the distance moved along the lakeside path. Etherlin Security. She knew their feelings on fallen creatures. She remembered the way they’d locked Merrick up when he’d infiltrated the Etherlin.
“Lysander, can you stand? We have to get you out of sight.”
He lay still as a corpse. She lurched up. If she could get him into Alissa’s house, she’d have a little time. She could try to arrange for a blood transfusion, though she wasn’t sure she could trust an Etherlin-affiliated physician to keep Lysander’s presence a secret. If the doctor told the council, ES would take over.
She glanced at Alissa’s house, which was dark and presumably locked tight. If she broke a window, ES might hear.
She needed a key. Instantly, she remembered Richard’s advice. She rushed to the purple trellis and knelt. Reaching into a hollow at the base she felt a smooth cold piece of plastic nestled among the dirt. She removed the plastic object, finding a fake gray rock. She flipped it and popped it open. A key lay inside. She extracted the key and rushed back to Lysander.
The lights were almost close enough to spot them, and the hazy orange of sunrise crept over the horizon.
His skin was frosty cold, but his chest moved more forcefully as he breathed.
She grabbed his arm and pulled, but he was much too heavy to drag, especially with the pain in her shoulder from where she’d wrenched her muscles.
She jabbed him with the key. “Lysander,” she whispered fiercely.
He stirred, and his eyes opened to small slits.
“C’mon. You have to get up. The security guys are coming.”
He moved, and she helped him roll onto his side. He panted from the effort, his lips pursed and bluish.
“I can’t stand yet.”
“You have to. C’mon. Try,” she said, pulling on him.
He took her hand and rose partially, then toppled, knocking her down with him. She gasped in pain. There was no way she could lift him. If he couldn’t stand, it was over.
Her gaze darted from side to side. She spotted the gardener’s shed. She jerked to her feet and ran to it, careful to avoid the motion sensors. It was lucky that she’d come across the property so many times before on her clandestine escapes.
She pulled the shed door open, wincing at the creaking sound. Finding a wheelbarrow, she hurried back to him.
It took two attempts to get him half into it and then she rolled it back to the shed, closing the door. She held her breath and peered out a small hole. The ES officers were nearly silent as they combed the grounds. If they got close enough to the tree, they’d see the blood. And, shit, find the dagger. Her heart thumped. She imagined herself trying to explain what she’d been doing in the shed concealing a mostly bloodless fallen angel.
They scanned the area and a beam of light ran over the ground at the base of the tree. She froze.
Damn it! We’re done. When they see the knife and the blood, they’ll search every inch—
But the flashlights moved on.
What the hell?
Her heart banged inside her chest. Moments passed, and she couldn’t believe it, but they didn’t close in on the shed. Why had they ignored the knife? They moved farther away.
Cerise turned her attention to the rising sun. She didn’t have much time before it was full light. Her only chance of getting him inside without anyone seeing was to move him immediately.
She turned and bent over the wheelbarrow where he was draped with the edges of the barrow cutting into his flash.
“Hey,” she whispered. “I have to move you, and you have to help by staying absolutely silent. Can you do that?”
He didn’t move a muscle. She put a palm above his nose and felt cool misty breath against it. Still alive. Just unconscious.
She opened the door, which creaked. She winced, gritting her teeth, but there was no sign of ES returning.
It’s now or never.
Cerise pushed the door wider and then lifted the wheelbarrow and pushed it. She bit her lip against the ache in her shoulder and wheeled him to the back door, keeping a steady watch. The lights weren’t far.
Don’t look this way.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside. She entered the date of the spring equinox on the security pad, and the light on the alarm pad turned green.
Thank you, Richard.
She returned to Lysander’s inert body and with a heave, tipped the wheelbarrow sideways. He rolled out and landed with a thud.
She shoved his body so it slid over the tile, then wheeled around and returned the empty wheelbarrow and closed the shed. She couldn’t resist veering to the cherry blossom tree to retrieve the knife. She noticed the blood was gone, as though it had been completely absorbed into the earth.
Not a speck on the grass? That’s a little…miraculous?
She returned swiftly to the house and closed the door. Once it was locked, she slid down to sit next to Lysander, trembling from the exertion and the adrenaline rush.
We made it, and he’s alive. At least for now.
Chapter 12
Cerise’s head ached from lack of sleep, but she couldn’t simply cover Lysander and leave him lying on the cold hard tile. Her sore shoulder complained when she rolled him onto a blanket and then held the edges in her fists and dragged him across the floor. It was tougher to slide him when the blanket hit the carpet, but she kept pulling and then rolled him the rest of the way. Finally, she dropped onto the carpeted floor alongside him and covered them both with the blanket.
She opened her phone and called Alissa and Merrick’s landline. Alissa answered immediately.
“It’s me, Liss.”
“Are you all right? Merrick just got back. He looked for Lysander in the Varden and the Sliver, but he wasn’t there. Did you—?”
“Yes, I found him.”
“Thank God.”
“He’s alive, but he lost a lot of blood. I got him inside your house. I’m going to call Dr.—”
“Did you remove his wings?”
“No.”
“Is he still bleeding?” Alissa asked, alarmed.
“No. I put his broken wing back inside his back, and the skin sealed over it.”
“Oh good,” Alissa said, exhaling in relief. “Don’t call anyone. If he’s taken to the hospital who knows what they’ll find in his blood or on
his X-rays. ES considers fallen angels the same as ventala. The minute they hear what he is, they’ll try to take him into custody, which would be a disaster when he wakes up and decides he doesn’t want to be in custody.”
“He’s cold, Alissa. Really cold.”
“He’ll survive. Just keep him warm.”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, call if you feel you have to, but I promise he’ll be all right.”
Cerise stared at the ceiling, and moments ticked away. Alissa would never risk Lysander’s life. “If he’s going to stay here to recover, no one can know. I notice your house is shiny clean and smells of Pine-Sol.”
“That’s Mrs. Carlisle and the maids. She wants everything ready for us to come home. I’ll call and inform her that you’re house-sitting and working there. I’ll make sure no one comes to the house.”
“That would be good.” Cerise paused, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
“Cerise, thank you for helping him. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You must be so tired. Try to get some rest. Call me when you wake.”
“I will.” Cerise closed the phone and let it drop onto the carpet. Her eyes burned as the lids closed over them. She moved closer to Lysander, putting an arm around his cold chest. His muscles twitched, and she pressed against him, shivering at the chill.
“Alissa and I are just becoming friends again,” she whispered. “If you die, I won’t be able to forgive her or myself for not calling you a doctor. So that’ll be on you.” She put her cheek against his neck. “Better if you survive.”
She woke slowly, the smell of sandalwood and earth filling the air. She breathed deep against the pressure on her chest. She opened her eyes. Tangled strands of dark gold hair blocked her view. She brushed them away and took in the state of things.
Lysander’s hand held her hip, his head rested on her chest, and his body was pressed to hers. The intimacy of their positions made her skin tingle and tighten.
He’d warmed, or her body had chilled to match his. She stretched her shoulders and the lack of stiffness seemed a good sign.
Her fingers combed his hair, then rested on the back of his neck.
“Are you awake?”
“No,” he murmured. “I’m dreaming.”
She smiled. “How’s your dream?”
“Soft. Sweet. And smooth.”
She traced his neck muscles to where they met his shoulders, then her fingers kneaded his flesh. His exhalation of breath ruffled her T-shirt.
“No hands ever felt better on my body. Not even when I was in love,” he said. “I wish this was a dream; I’d pray to never wake up.”
“When were you in love?” she asked, aware that the jealous pang in her solar plexus was unwarranted. This closeness was only an illusion.
“I’ll tell you about it, but before that there are other things that need to be said.”
Her hands stilled at his grave tone. As if her body’s stiffening were his cue, he raised himself to a sitting position. He twisted slowly, and a hiss of pain escaped his lips.
He extended his arms toward the ceiling, but jerked to a stop with a grimace. “The root of the wing is still cracked.” His pursed lips were pale, but not blue as they’d been the night before. “I’ll have to modify my movements to let it heal. It’s a miracle that you managed to—” He looked at her. “I owe you my life. And an apology.”
“An apology for what?”
“For creating the circumstance where my blood was under your hands.” He rubbed his jaw. “I shouldn’t have come here, but Richard’s house is empty. I didn’t expect anyone to find me. I thought to leave you a gift.”
She put an arm behind her head to prop it up as she watched him. “Why is it a problem that I touched your blood?”
“An old tradition. An old law.” He studied her, pausing as if trying to decide how to explain. “Through the ages, men have sworn blood oaths and have scored their hands to mix their blood as a testament to their brotherhood and loyalty to each other. It was once thought that all maladies were found in the ill humors of blood and that draining away bad blood would be curative or at least therapeutic.” He licked his lips. “The human preoccupation with blood comes from the angels. When we took on the flesh of mankind and saw that wounds bled—that we could share a part of ourselves—we made the first oaths. And it became law that to touch an angel’s blood or to carry his blood inside one’s body was to become bound. That’s why when I made love to you I didn’t complete the act even though I wanted to. If you would’ve become pregnant and carried my blood inside you, we’d have been bound and I didn’t want that.”
She frowned.
“I would never have tied your fate to mine on purpose,” he continued. “I’m fallen, and that’s a dangerous state of being. I have no brotherhood to stand with me against my enemies—which are numerous—and no sanctuary within which to leave a lover. I belong nowhere. Unfortunately, now neither do you.”
Her stomach clenched, dread building, and she sat up. “What do you mean? What does that mean?”
“We’re connected.”
“Permanently?”
He inclined his head.
“I didn’t agree to that.”
He smiled ruefully. “Your agreement isn’t required. You acted on impulse, but there are still consequences.”
She pursed her lips. That couldn’t possibly be how things worked.
He must have sensed her skepticism because he pressed on. “Imagine you’re in your kitchen and you bump something which then falls from the counter. Instinctively you grab it. It turns out to be a butcher’s knife that you caught by the blade. The fact that you didn’t have time to consider your actions doesn’t protect your fingers from being cut. You bear no blame, but there are still consequences.”
As this logic penetrated, her mind raced. She couldn’t have changed her whole life in that instant. She was one of the four most powerful muses on the planet. She had a special destiny—a divine gift of her own. She wasn’t just a trophy human to be dragged along by an angel. “My life is my own.”
“Yes, and now it’s tied to mine. My blood marked you and sealed my obligation. I’ll defend you to the death. And until your soul is delivered to heaven or hell, you’re mine.”
Her pulse pounded like the feet of runners in a dead sprint. Hold on. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. He could be lying to trick me into doing what he says. Demons would do anything to have a muse’s ability to influence people. Maybe an almost damned angel would, too. Everyone knows the fallen can’t be trusted.
“I live here in the Etherlin where no fallen creature is welcome.”
“I did warn you not to touch me.” He rose to his towering height. “At the time, I wasn’t strong enough to stop you. But you saved my wings, so I can’t…” He paused with a pained expression. “I can’t completely regret that I wasn’t.” He tapped his fist against his leg.
She stared at him. He had warned her. In fact, he’d hesitated to get involved with her all along. Unless that had been an act—a really convincing one. She narrowed her eyes. Con men and tricksters often did things to draw their marks to them. They pretended reluctance to make the mark more eager. Could that have been part of his ploy to draw her in? No, he really had been bleeding to death. That definitely hadn’t been a ruse. But what did she really know about him? Only that Alissa cared about him because he was Merrick’s friend.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I didn’t hear one,” he said.
“The implied question,” she said, scowling. “I live here. You can’t. How will you act as bodyguard under the circumstances?”
He walked to the doorway, glancing briefly over his shoulder at her. “I’m sorry your life changed without your consent, Cerise. When you’re done grieving your loss, come to the kitchen. For now, I’ll leave you with your thoughts.”
Lysander diced tomatoes with the
kind of speed usually reserved for master chefs. She watched from the doorway, admiring the way he moved even while she was swamped with doubts about him and about her own future.
When he reached up into a cupboard with his left hand, he stopped sharply and brought his arm down to his side, using the other.
“You need a sling to remind you not to use that arm.”
“A sling,” he said, glancing down as if one might appear. “That would be a good reminder of many things. Like how close I came to losing this body. Again, my thanks. I think it wasn’t easy work getting that wing back inside.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I’m lucky you’re stronger than most people. And that you had the fortitude to cut a wider wound. Many could not have brought themselves to do it.”
“Tell me more about what us being tied together means.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers catching on the tangles. “I’ve explained it as well as I can. Fate will reveal the rest.”
She studied his face, unease rippling through her. He knew more than he was saying. Things she probably wouldn’t like and wouldn’t want to accept. “I want more information.”
He shook his head and turned away.
“Lysander?” she said, infusing her voice with persuasive power. She felt a rush of exhilaration at using her magic. She realized it was the second time she’d been able to—the first had been when she’d talked herself out of the grips of overwhelming lust when he’d left her.
“Do you like French toast?” he asked, apparently unaffected by muse magic. That grated, her joy melting away momentarily. She wanted her divinely instilled power to be as strong as his.
“About us…”
“Maybe eggs.”
She glared at his back. “Lysander, I deserve the most detailed explanation you can give me. I expect that much considering that I saved your wings and your life.”
All That Falls Page 13
